13 Bullets in a Clip
by irtaco
Summary: When Ted Gunderson goes missing in the Ultra-Luxe, John D. Moss takes the case. Of course in New Vegas, nothing is simple.
1. Et tu, Mortimer?

As I stood in the doorway of the Gourmand, I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer...creepiness of the place. This casino, the Ultra-Luxe, was a pinnacle of class and culture supposedly. Yet all I saw was a large crowd of overly polite masked assholes and wannabe celebrities. Everyone was clamoring to be seen as more sophisticated than the next guy. Annoying, but manageable. The more pressing matter was the missing Ted Gunderson. His father Heck was certain he disappeared somewhere in this hotel. But where?

"Fucking Gunderson..." I muttered, stalking towards the one lady who might have a lead.

"Excuse me Miss, but are you Marjorie?" I asked, sliding towards the counter leading into the restaurant. I slipped into my practiced "suck-up" voice. She just screamed "stuck up bitch" with her fancy pink dress and hair curled by excessive amount of product. Politeness would have to be used here.

"Why yes I am. May I ask who you might be?" She answered. Ugh, her voice was condescending as all hell, too. I tried to push past it and smile. It _was_ a lot of money Gunderson had offered, enough to buy a nice apartment in Freeside.

"My name is John Moss. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Marjorie" I smiled as I said it. Had to look sincere, after all.

"Likewise! How may I help you, sir?" She asked, leaning forward a bit. She looked bored even as she spoke. Guess pretending to be cheery and polite took a toll on you.

"I'm looking for someone- a guy named Ted. Ted Gunderson. He disappeared recently, and was last seen here. Would you happen to know where he is?" I asked. She seemed to freeze at this. Her dark eyes grew wide for a split second before returning to an obviously practiced neutral state. Shit, that ain't good, I thought.

"Not another one! Oh, what will people think? Image is everything, after all. We can't have people be too scared to come here..." She muttered to herself, staring holes into the wood of the reception desk. Suddenly, she looked up and into my eyes.

"A bride-to-be recently vanished as well. An investigator was looking into the manner. Please, go talk to Mortimer. He'll help you find him" She said, now full of energy. I nodded and left. I was intrigued to say the least. Two people missing in the same hotel? The investigator was still here too. This meant it was recent as well...shit.

I fingered the 9mm in my suit jacket. I had to leave my repeater at the Lucky 38. I felt naked without it. All I had was the clothes on my back and Maria, Benny's pistol that I "borrowed" after...settling accounts. If I ran into trouble, I was pretty screwed. 13 bullets weren't very reassuring, after all.

I went back to the main hallway, past the cashier. I had no clue who this Mortimer guy was, so I settled for asking the guy in the awesome top hat. He probably knew, given that he was at a reception desk like Marjorie.

"Sir, I hate to ask, but do you know where Mortimer is?" I asked, leaning onto the desk. The guy just stared at me.

"I'm Mortimer." He deadpanned, clearly annoyed. Welp, great first impression Moss.

"Ah, my apologies. I'm looking for an investigator who stopped by here recently. I was told you talked with" I said, smiling a bit. At least I found him. Top hats never lie, after all.

"Oh? Yes, I remember him. I have to ask, is it pertaining to the case?" He asked. I didn't like the look in his eye. He looked...angry. Shit, was he on his period or something? I hadn't done anything wrong yet!

"Um...yes! I have some valuable information for him. It's rather important, so..." I trailed off, giving him an expectant look. For his part, he smiled. Not a nice smile, though. An angry, almost punchy smile. He wanted me to go away.

"Oh, of _course_! Here you go. It's the first door on the right" He said as he handed me the key card. I thanked him and went on my way. For being a total dick, he was pretty helpful. After a bit of walking around aimlessly I found the entrance to the hotel proper.

"Well, here we are. Please let him be here" I muttered outside the door to the investigator's room. Taking a breath, I knocked twice. Nothing.

"Excuse me, Mr-" Shit, what was this guy's name? "-Investigator guy? My name's John. I need to talk to you. Can I come in?" I asked, leaning in to hear an answer. Still nothing.

"Fine! Be that way, I'm coming in. Don't, y'know, shoot me or something" I announced, putting the key card in the slot and turning the handle. I stepped in, closing the door with one last look into the hall. Didn't want to be seen by too many people. Marjorie probably wouldn't want a scene.

First thing I saw was the blood. It was splattered all over the carpet. The centerpiece though, was the investigator. He was splayed on the floor, staring up to the ceiling. From the bruises and the cuts on the face, he must've been beaten to death. I winced. This was...what, the second body I've ever seen? Benny was the first.

I staggered over to him and dropped to my knees. Fuck, I was gonna throw up. I shook my head and started rifling through his pockets. Maybe he had something that could help me find Ted. My hand closed around some small cardboard box. I took it out.

"A...matchbook? Great, what else is- oh shit. What's this?" I asked myself as looked at it. There was a note written in pen on the back. 'Steam room. 4pm.' I checked my Pipboy. 3:05pm. I still had time. I just hoped that-

The door opened.

"Pardon us; we're the cleaners for this floor. It appears there is a mess we have to...take care of" A White Glove member was standing in the doorway. He was brandishing his cane like a club. Another goon was right behind him, chuckling like it a fucking joke.

"...Oh Christ" I muttered as I stood up. I went for Maria. I didn't get the chance to draw it. The one closest to me struck out at me with his cane. I ducked and backed up. The second Glove closed and locked the door before sauntering over to me. They circled around me, like coyotes to wounded prey.

I slowly reached down and grabbed the investigator's briefcase. Brandishing it with a grimace, I stepped forward. Mortimer, you _dick_. You'll pay for this. Right after these guys though. They're more important.

"Let's go, boys"


	2. Sorrows and Chauncey

There was no way this was going to end well. I was cornered by two thugs in a locked room with only a leather briefcase in hand. If I actually got a shot off with Maria, the whole hotel would hear and I'd be dead before I could even get to Mr. Gunderson. So I had just one choice...

"Catch, asshole!" I shouted as I whipped the briefcase towards the one to my right. I caught him in the chin and caused him to drop the cane in his hands. The case exploded in a shower of papers and files, blinding him as he tumbled backwards into the wall. I ran after him, scooping up the cane on the floor. The look on his face right before the cane connected with his skull was one of pure shock.

With a "crack", the Glove slid down the wall before collapsing onto the floor in a heap. I whirled around towards Chuckles. He was in mid-charge towards me. I ducked under his swing and lashed out with my right leg. It hit in the inside of his leg, dropping him to his knees. I didn't give him a chance to retaliate. I brought the cane down onto his head. He crashed down to the carpet, out cold.

"What the hell is going on? Who are these guys?" I muttered, looking over the scene. My heart was pounding in my chest; my breath came out in ragged gasps. I checked myself, looking for any wounds. Not even a scratch. You lucky bastard, Moss.

I checked my Pipboy. 3:08. Huh, would've figured it took longer to deal with the White Gloves. I took one glance at the room before leaving. I dropped the cane next to Chuckles. It would make look too out of place. I left towards the bathhouse, walking slow as if every step would take me back to my brush with death in that damnable room.

"Keep it together Moss, just keep cool" I whispered to myself as I walked towards both the steam room and my only lead to Ted. I only-

XXXXXX

"Hey John! I'm talking to you!" Francine Garret snaps at me. Staring over at me from her spot behind the bar, she looks like she can see the whole world. I sigh, walking over to her from my spot guarding the door.

"Sorry boss, couldn't hear ya. Is everything alright?" I ask, thankful for a distraction. Anything to keep the memories away.

"You look like shit Moss. Pack it for the day. Rat can handle the door" she says, nodding towards my fellow security guard. He grimaces, but nods back.

"It's alright boss. Really! Just zoning off today, is all" I reply, desperate to stay up. Down time lets the memories come back.

"No John! You've worked two shifts today. A third one'll kill ya. It's not healthy" She finishes, eyes softening. The Garret twins both knew about what I'd done in the Ultra-Luxe. Who didn't? Most everyone in Freeside had heard about it. Francine considered it a good thing when she hired me. No one would try to rob a place guarded by a mass murderer. She even gave me a free room if I worked at the Atomic Wrangler full time. Turns out people actually wanted to see the infamous "Ultra-Luxe Slasher". Who woulda figured?

"It's alright, really. Boss...please. Don't make me go" I whimper. We both know what'll happen if I get some time alone with my thoughts.

"Sorry John. I can't force you to stay up this late. It's been what, two days since you last slept? It's not healthy. You need help!" She says, staring into my eyes. Damn it, I can't say no to her. She was like family. After she took me in, after she helped me survive the aftermath of my actions, I saw her as a friend, maybe a sister even.

"...Fine. I'll go see Dr. Usanagi in the morning. Can I please just stay out here for a bit?" I ask, hoping the desperation doesn't bleed into my voice.

"Alright John. Sit down, I'll grab you a drink" She sighs, content at a partial victory over stubborn old me. Smiling, I sit down at the bar. The moment I lean in, the memories flood back into place...

XXXXXX

The walk down the hall towards the bathhouse still haunts me to this day. Every breath I took was one of terror. Every doorway could've held an assassin, every corner a gunman. Any second I could turn around and there would be a barrel in my face. I probably would've bolted if anyone else was in the hallway. The silence was deafening.

At last I entered the bathhouse itself. It was enormous! Easily the size of the lobby, it smelled...clean. Cleaner than the air outside on the Strip, at least. The men and women inside swam around, basking in the cold waters and chlorine-rich air. I stopped and smiled a bit. It smelled like the neighborhood pool back in New Reno, only a hell of a lot fancier.

I walked past a dark skinned man sitting on a bench off to the side along a wall. He stood out like a sore thumb, dressed in a tuxedo like that. He was a fucking White Glove! I smiled my warmest smile, even though my heart was pounding in my chest.

"Hey there!" I greeted him as I passed, on the way to the steam room. He wished me a good afternoon and went back to staring off into space. He had to be the contact the investigator was meeting. I checked the time. 3:43. Guess the walk took longer than it felt. I walked into the private room at the back of the steam room and took off my jacket. I placed on the bench next to me, with Maria stashed under it. After what happened in the steam room, I couldn't be too careful. The door opened as I sat down. The man in the tuxedo stood still as he appraised me, before closing the door and sitting down beside me.

"So...who the hell are you?" I drawled, looking at the Glove, preparing for any of his tricks. My hand was ready to grab Maria and waste the poor bastard.

"My name is Chauncey. Where's the man I was supposed to meet?" He asked in a posh, assuredly fake accent. I grimaced and looked away, remembering what happened.

"Dead. Your buddies murdered him"


	3. What is going on here?

"Oh my goodness gr-"Chauncey started in that posh, positively false voice before I cut him off with sharp hand gesture.

"Relax. He's got company in Hell" I told him as I leaned back on the bench, hoping he understood. His eyes opened even wider, if that was even possible. Yeah, he got it.

"...Oh no. That means they know he was talking to someone on the inside! Oh no, they'll find out it's me and then..." Chauncey muttered to himself, holding his head in his hands. I felt for the guy, but we _really_ did not have the time here. I grabbed him by his shoulders and looked him square in his eyes.

"What the hell is going on here? Why did I have to fight off fucking assassins? And, more importantly, where the _fuck_ is Ted Gunderson?" I asked, nearly screaming. I shook him as I asked. By the time I was done, the poor bastard just stared dumbly at me in shock.

"S-sorry, I didn't-never mind. I'll just...start from the beginning. There's a group of White Gloves that wish to...return to the 'old ways,'" I just stared at him. He sighed and continued, "...Cannibalism" Oh. Fuck.

"Fucking Cannibalism? Jesus, I knew you guys were creepy, but..."I trailed off as I saw his face. He was about to strangle me from the looks of it.

"Sorry, just...cannibalism. Cannibalism. It's fucked up, is what it is" I muttered, looking down at my lap. What the fuck did I get myself into? I supposed to be finding a missing person, not fighting a fucking cannibal clan.

"Right...look, the group is led by-"

"Mortimer" I finished for him.

"Indeed. I presume you met?" He asked.

"Yep. Fucking dick" I answered, now looking back at him. He chuckled at that.

"An apt description, if any I heard. He's trying to turn us back to the 'old ways'. He just might succeed, too. We White Gloves are interested in anything that differentiates us from the common people of the Strip, you see. This will appeal to our...ideals" He sighs, shaking his head a bit.

"And this is where Ted comes in?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, he's the main course for tonight's meal" _Fuck._

"How the hell is he going to do it? Mr. House says cannibalism is illegal. Fucker'll get the firing squad!" I ask, getting to my feet. I thought better walking around.

"Mortimer believes it will be worth it. And besides, he won't tell them what they're eating until afterwords" He answers. I suddenly realize Mortimer's plan.

"They can't turn him in if they're guilty too! He'll tell them after they eat Ted, and then they'll have to accept him. They'll damn themselves as well if they turn him in to Mr. House!"I exclaimed. Crafty bastard, that Mortimer. I turn to Chauncey, who's looking up at me with those wide eyes of his. He's nervous, I realize. I'm the only one willing to help keep his Family from becoming monsters. I grin as a plot worms its way into my head.

"Where are they keeping Ted?" I asked, crouching down against the wall. I grab the wine bottle off the bench. Good vintage. Chauncey just stares.

"In one of the pantries behind the Gourmand. I don't know how you'll get to him, but-"He began to say before I cut him off.

"Listen Chauncey, I'm going to rescue him, and then I'm going to kill that fucker Mortimer. Any help you can lend would be appreciated" I finish, setting the wine down. I stood up and walked over to the bench and grabbed Maria from under my jacket. Chauncey stares wide eyed as I check to make sure all's well with it. Guess he hasn't seen many guns in the casino. At least not up close.

"Well, I could mention you to Marjorie. Maybe she'll sponsor you for a membership into the White Gloves?" He asked himself. He closed his eyes as he thought. It was rather cu- damn it Moss, not the time! Shaking my head, I put on my suit jacket. The white was stained on the sleeve by a drop of blood, probably from the Gloves in the room. A shame, it'd have to be dry cleaned at Mick and Ralph's later. _If _there was a later.

"Sounds good. You do that while I scope out the Gourmand. I'll see if I can find a-"I never got to finish. The door swung open and several _pfft_ noises echoed into the room. Chauncey shuddered at each one, dropping to the ground after the last, the third. I grabbed the wine bottle as I threw myself against the wall.

He stepped in. The man was pale, with a blonde punk haircut. The tips were dyed purple, and the hair itself was shaved on the right side, with the left hanging low. He was dressed in a military type outfit, with dual bandoliers across the chest. The thick blue jacket bulged with ammo and what looked like several knives. His eyes stood out the most. Pale blue, like ice. His were the eyes of the damned. They looked like they could see into your fucking soul. I didn't hesitate to throw the bottle at his head.

It crashed into him, splattering the red wine all over both him and the wall. He stumbled a bit, dropping his silenced .22. I dove for it. I scooped it off the floor and shoved it under his chin. His cold eyes registered no fear, only intense hate as I pulled the trigger.

I sat there for a moment, his blood dripping down my face. I just stared at the assassin's body, crumpled at the foot of the bench. I turned my head and looked at Chauncey. His wide eyes just stared upwards, even as the blood began to pool on his chest. It already drizzled over his side and onto the bench. I sighed and wiped my eyes. Had I begun to cry? Why? The man didn't even know my name, and yet here he was, dead. I was alive. Benny was right; I had to have the Devil's luck.

"Fuck...time for plan B, I guess!" I laughed, humorlessly. I was barely fighting off the urge to scream. Any longer in this room and I would break down. I grabbed the .22 and two clips of ammo before leaving. I closed the door and walked out past the people gawking at me. Guess I forgot to wipe off the blood. I grabbed a towel from some old lady's hands and swiped it across my face. Who cares if I got it all off? I wouldn't matter. Let the White Gloves know I was coming. They'd all die the same.


	4. Raid

4:55. I had been walking, stumbling really, for over an hour. I took the long route, hoping to clear my head. It worked. My terror and sorrow had been replaced with cold hatred. I wanted him dead. _Mortimer_. He was a dead man. But first, my employer had to be notified that his beloved son wasn't dinner...yet.

"Yo!" I tried to be cheerful as I slid into the seat next to Heck Gunderson. He looked at me from his drink. He shook his head at his guard, whom I presumed was about to crack me in the skull with that shotgun of his. The bartender glanced at me, but ignored me otherwise. Not rich enough, I suppose.

"Listen, your boy's alive" I started after a minute of silence. The bartender was tending to some old lady dressed in a blue dress on the other side of the bar. It was safe to talk.

Heck stopped middrink. He looked at me, to see if I was lying, then broke into a wide smile. "Kid, I'd just about given up hope. Listen, you do what you have to. Just...just get my Ted back" He finished, tears starting to well up in his eyes.

"Heck...people have already died. Good men. No more innocent people are going to die on my watch. I swear it" I grasped his hand and looked into my eyes. He stared back. We stayed like that for a moment before he nodded to his guard. The ranch hand grabbed a black duffel bag from beside him and put it in my hands. Some metal things clinked together. Fuck yes, thank you Mr. Gunderson!

"I'll be back shortly, Mr. Gunderson. And you," I turned to the bartender eavesdropping on us," forget you heard a thing. Actually, just walk away. Now. Shit's gonna be messy" I walked away. I heard the clacking of high heels on tiles as she walked out from behind the bar and towards the doors to the Strip. Smart girl.

I passed the reception desk where Mortimer was. He was gone. Must've heard I survived both his hits. But he wouldn't get away, not after what he'd done. I smiled at the thought.

"Hey! Watch i- oh shit, John? John!" I heard as I ran face first, almost literally, into the drunk from the Mojave Outpost. Fuck, not her. Dressed in a white dress and her signature hat, she looked...good. But she still swaggered like the whiskey-loving gal at the Outpost.

"Hey...Cass. How's it been?" I ask, already edging closer to the Gourmand. I did not need her trouble. I nearly got killed when I took her advice to check out Nipton for Ranger Ghost. Of course, I wasn't even able to get into the town proper. Smoke, crucified skeletons and a crazy Powder Ganger? Fuck that shit. At least Ghost figured out what happened. Didn't even get paid. Thanks Cass.

"Pretty good! You check out the shit they got here? Real fancy. Hey, what's with the bag? Going somewhere?" Damn her, how did she know? Stupid drunk being not drunk.

"Oh, just a...job" I muttered before inspiration hit me. She was good with a gun, right? Which means..."Hey, how'd you like to earn 200 caps real quick?" She just stared.

"I ain't a fucking prostitute!" She shouted in my face. Fuck, people were staring.

"Follow me. I'll fill you in" I grabbed her arm and walked into the Gourmand. She struggled at first, but curiosity won over indignation. We walked past Marjorie, who just looked at us with a sly smile.

"Alright, here we are. Look, let's start at the beginning..." I began as we sat down in the corner of the restaurant. I told her everything. Marjorie, the investigator, Chauncey, all of it. By the end she was staring at me with her jaws wide open.

"Wow...you're in way over your head, you know?" She pointed out, still in shock. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. Didn't I fucking know that?

"Yeah, I know. Wanna help? I split the pay 50-50" I asked, looking her dead in the eyes. The time for fucking around was over. She mulled it over for a minute or so before announcing:

"Hell yeah! Let's do this shit!" She got up and shook my hand. I was glad to have someone watching my back. I bent down and unzipped the duffel bag a bit, just to see inside. A pump action shotgun, ammo and even a pair of dynamite sticks were in there. Holy shit Heck, I fucking love you old man. But they weren't what I was after. The target was a simple, rusty old wrench. I hefted it and zipped up the bag.

We walked over to the counter, weaving around the crowd of people paying for their meals. I walked around the side and to the door leading into the kitchens. The cashiers looked at me, but I showed them the wrench and jerked my head to the door. They nodded and went back to the horde of people thrusting caps at them. Too easy.

We walked down into the bowels of the hotel, alert for any sudden movement. Cass grabbed me suddenly and started rifling through the duffel bag. She zipped it back up, grasping her prize. I shook my head, walking even as I heard her cackle evilly as she loaded her new toy. Same old Cass. I drew the .22, too. The time for subtlety was long gone.

We stopped as we felt a strong, harsh heat across our faces. We stalked into a room with a pair of White Gloves, each wielding a flamer. They were roasting Brahmin carcasses hung up on meat hooks. I nodded towards a counter beside us. It held all manner of knives and cleavers. She grabbed a butcher's cleaver and handed me a solid chef's knife. I held it in a reverse grip as we sneaked up on the Gloves.

I signaled for her to wait. We were less than a foot away. The loud rush of flame masked our presence from them. I waited until the flames were gone and their fingers were off the trigger. We struck.

I grabbed the one on the right and covered his mouth with my left hand. My right brought the knife down into his throat. Cass sunk hers into her mark's skull. He flopped down, cleaver still embedded even as he hit the ground. I pulled my knife out and let my man sink to the ground with a gurgle of blood. I stepped over the Glove and towards the stairs down further into the kitchens. I felt...nothing. No hate, no fear. Just cold.

At the bottom of the stairs we ran into the guard posted to the floor. He stared at us, too shocked to even speak. It was the blood, I bet. Cass tackled him to the floor with a grunt. He struggled against her, thrashing to escape. I shot him in the forehead, not even sparing him a second glance. Cass got up and followed me. I walked down the hall, alert for an ambush. I continued until I saw someone cooking in one of the kitchens.

He was bald, his pale skull reflecting the lights above him as he working. He was like a storm, flittering back and forth from the oven and the counter to his right. He mumbled to himself, something about his recipe. He didn't notice me until my foot stabbed into the back of his right knee. Dropped with a scream, but I caught his throat with my left arm and showed him the bloody knife and .22. He stopped screaming. I tightened my arm around his throat.

"Where. Is. Ted?" I asked, tightening with each syllable. He gagged, but pointed towards one of the freezer rooms behind us. He reached for his front pocket. I tightened again. He gurgled. Cass reached in and pulled out a key. I smiled, muttered 'good boy' and shot him.

I dropped him and took his key. Cass shook her head, but followed me to the freezer. I could hear panicked breathing from behind the door. I smiled and unlocked the door. The slightly chubby teenage boy looked up at me with fear and backed into the corner.

"I-I swear, my daddy's gonna kill all you bastards!" He threatened, taking a step forward. I actually smiled at that. Yep, he was Heck's spawn alright.

"Ted Gunderson, I presume? We're here to rescue you!"


End file.
